Finally, I was a catcher. I had played organized baseball from the time I was seven years old. I always wanted to play catcher but the coaches, including my father, wouldn’t let me because I was left-handed. Instead they made me a first baseman. I loved the position and was pretty good at it, but I was never taught to… Read moreThe Last Game | Part One
It was shaping up to be a good year. We were tied for first place about halfway through the season. All that changed the following Saturday morning. Early in the game, Beera came to the plate and hit a line drive to center. The center fielder caught the ball on the first bounce and threw it to the second baseman…. Read moreThe Last Game | Part Two
I folded the Bug’s top down and dropped my bat bag onto the back seat. I climbed in, turned the ignition switch, looked at the miniature leather baseball glove hanging from the rear-view mirror and smiled. That had been one helluva game. I put the little car in gear and drove away, enjoying the wind on my face and the… Read moreThe Last Game | Part Three
So far, this has been a spring and summer of baseball for Jackie and I. From the time he played Tee-ball, we have always gone to her grandson Gavin’s games. He has blossomed into a splendid player, alternating between shortstop, pitcher and first base. He batted leadoff this season and after taking batting lessons over the winter, learned to hit… Read moreThe Boys of Summer | Our Field of Dreams
The pitcher wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned in. There were two on and two outs. The game had started at seven o’clock and it was a sweltering early June night in Georgia. The catcher set the target for the inside corner of the plate. Perfect for his favorite pitch, the curve. He stretched and threw. The pitch… Read moreThe Curve
It was a warm April afternoon. There were four of us, Billy, Bubba-Bubba, Brain and myself playing baseball in Billy’s back yard. Bubba-Bubba was called that because it was what his baby brother called him. Brain got his name on the first day of school in the third grade. His real name, Brian, was misspelled on the roll. The teacher… Read moreA Covert Operation | Part One
“Look up there at that patio,” said Bubba-Bubba. The Old Bastard’s patio was a brick and concrete extension of the back of the house. Three brick pillars supported it across the front, three on each side and three across the back. The pillars extended above the patio, with wrought iron railings between each one. Concrete steps ran down the left… Read moreA Covert Operation | Part Two
We crossed Billy’s back yard and sat against the fence behind the big tree with the basketball goal. Billy’s American Bulldog Socko had joined us walking through Billy’s yard. He was the neighborhood dog. Socko looked mean, but was completely gentle, never barked and didn’t bite. The only problem was that he had a propensity to chase cars. One day… Read moreA Covert Operation | Part Three
